


jamais vu

by Claudia_flies



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Bucky, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, Idiots in Love, M/M, MCU Kink Bingo, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Masturbation, Omega!Steve, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Strangers to Lovers, but not as we know it, well more like strangers to casual sex hooks ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: They’re all gathered in the top floor private conference room because Tony wants to set up a Strike team, and he’s making some really excellent points. The Avengers aren’t a stealth operation, Steve has to admit.He just doesn’t like it.





	jamais vu

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [jamais vu 陌生的愛人](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622212) by [carolchang829](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolchang829/pseuds/carolchang829)



> Written for the MCU Kink Bingo square 'Fuck or Die', and I have once again written only in "the spirit" of the square.
> 
> Beta'd by Zilia who is a goddess and I don't deserve her favor.

**jamais vu** (/ˈʒæmeɪ ˈvuː/; French pronunciation: [ʒa.mɛ.vy]), _a French borrowing meaning "never seen", refers to the phenomenon of experiencing a situation that one recognizes in some fashion, but nonetheless seems very unfamiliar._

It had taken Steve almost a year out of the ice to not feel ashamed of these desires, to accept them and then eventually embrace them.

It’s not like he’d ever had a lot of time to explore things with anyone. At first, he’d been sickly and then he’d been huge, neither of them something anyone would desire in an Omega. He’d grown up in a strict Catholic household, his ma always checking he had his hands above the covers at night, and his first few heats were spent under her watchful eye. Not that anyone would have wanted him for anything, either then or after she’d passed, when he’d been left to his own devices.

So buying the toy had felt transgressive, a little bit wrong even. He’d left it in the brown, unmarked box for a week after it arrived until curiosity had gotten the better of him. Then it had taken a few tries and some creative maneuvering, but in the end, Steve had been left to wonder why he’d waited so long.

He pushes his hips down, letting the toy slowly stretch him open. This is his favorite part. The slow opening of his body, the way it welcomes the bulbous shape, the promise of fullness it brings.

It’s not like anyone would want to do this with him now either, even if they knew.

Peggy had been, well, she’d been _Peggy_. She’d been different. They’d had to keep it a secret, what he was. But they’d talked about it. Talked about _after_. After the war, after the fight was done and Hydra was gone. How they’d set up a little house in Somerset or in Brooklyn, neither of them had minded where. Talked about how they’d have a few kids. Steve had loved that thought. His belly round and full, this body made for battle becoming something else.

He rolls his hips again, pressing the back of his head into the plush pillows, letting himself groan at the sensation of the toy moving inside of him. Thinking of Peggy’s hands and her wide, sharp smile.

Nobody knows this about him now, those records so carefully guarded lost to history. SHIELD was keen to keep up appearances too, all that talk of political capital and people’s view of history, and Steve had gone along with it. What else could he have done, alone and bewildered in a new century?

All the good it had done him, or SHIELD. All of it is in ruins now, crashed to the bottom of the Potomac. _Good riddance_ , Steve thinks, his toes curling into the comforter, as he rolls and rolls and rolls his hips, fucking himself back onto the toy.

Now only the Avengers know, Tony, Natasha, Thor, Bruce, Clint. They’ve all been mostly good with it. Tony had called it a ‘headfuck’ after all that talk from Howard on the pinnacle of Alphahood he’d grown up with. Steve still wonders about that, about the hope Howard must have lived with in order to keep that particular lie alive for so long.

He pulls his knees to his chest as he comes, pretending there’s someone there holding him down, keeping him close. Steve lets himself have that; these fantasies hurt no one, least of all himself. He leaves the toy in as he curls up in the covers and pillows, its shape masquerading that of a knot, letting his body grip it tight.

There’s very little concern for anyone finding out now. The scent blocks and suppressants have come a long way since Steve’s day, and once SHIELD figured out a decent cocktail for his souped-up body, no one would ever even question his designation. After a year or two, Steve didn’t really think about it either. He’d put those thoughts of little homes in Somerset or Brooklyn aside. It wasn’t something that he could have anymore.

He presses his face into a pillow, blocking out the light. Squeezing the toy inside of him, feeling that dopamine rush of being filled.

At least he can have that.

* * *

They’re all gathered in the top floor private conference room because Tony wants to set up a Strike team, and he’s making some really excellent points. The Avengers aren’t a stealth operation, Steve has to admit. Natasha and Clint do well, as does Steve, in a pinch, but they’re all getting too well known. A cell phone camera in the wrong place at the wrong time could unravel a mission, Steve gets that.

He just doesn’t _like_ it.

He’d worked with the Strike teams at SHIELD, with all those obnoxious Alphas jostling for position, and he’d had to pretend to care, pretend to fit in. He doesn’t want that posturing on missions again. Not now that they’re running the show.

“Hill has some great recommendations,” Tony enthuses, pulling up half a dozen personnel files up onto the screens. “All certified, true blue, loyal little SHIELD bunnies. No Hydra in sight!”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the candidates. They’re all Alphas, because of course, they are.

“We should at least talk to them,” Clint hedges from the corner. “Hernandez is solid, so’s Barnes. Worked with both of them on a few ops a couple of years ago.”

“Wasn’t Barnes benched last year?” Natasha asks, squinting at the screen.

Steve looks too. Barnes’ picture is a straight-on military photo, with tightly cropped hair and eyes staring to the front. Attractive in the same way all asshole Alphas are these days.

“Yeah,” Clint’s nodding. “He got captured, experimented on I think. They made him into a desk jockey after that. A damn shame, the guy was a good sniper.”

That, coming from Clint, means that Barnes was one of the best in the world.

Steve still doesn’t like it, but he has to concede to the team eventually after much grumbling.

“I guess it won’t hurt to talk to them.”

Tony claps his hands in glee and dials Maria on the intercom.

* * *

Maria and Natasha do the interviews, both of them able to exude enough menace and corporate smoothness to fit in with what the expectations are when joining the Avengers, or Stark Enterprises to be exact, as that’s where everyone’s salaries are being paid from.

Steve watches from the observatory above the conference room.

Hernandez is good, just like Clint said. Solid, and Steve can see no duplicity in him. He has that career military look that Steve has begun to appreciate during his time at SHIELD. He’d been able to pick out the guys who were doing their time in the front lines just to get a leg up in the hierarchy. Just to earn their stripes, but Hernandez is a lifetimer and that’s worth its weight in gold. At least that’s something that hasn’t changed between _then_ and _now_.

Neither of the next two candidates passes muster. Johnson makes a few jokes in the room, thinking it’s only Alphas listening in, which gets him kicked out post haste. It’s the one thing Steve and Tony seem to be able to agree on without a fight. Aliers is looking for a desk job, so Maria sends him on his way with few contacts in the state department who might be able to help.

Barnes looks nothing like his picture. His hair is long, tied up in a neat ponytail at the back of his head when he comes in. As he shakes both Natasha’s and Maria’s hand at the door, Steve can see that his left hand is made totally of metal. He can see Tony sitting up next to him, can almost feel the gleam in his eye, and Steve’s stomach sinks. Tony isn’t going to let this one go.

He’s right. Both Barnes and Hernandez get on the team, with a younger Alpha named Lindel, who Maria seems to see something in. Steve isn’t convinced yet, but he’ll get a chance to put them all through their paces soon enough.

At least Barnes is good. Professional and serious, but Steve can feel the urge in him to get back to the field. Natasha, probably already knowing what Tony’s thinking, makes testing the arm one of the conditions. Barnes doesn’t seem enthused, but the promise of combat missions has him agreeing to be checked out by Tony.

He’d probably agreed to anything to be let back in the fight. He’s like Steve like that, and isn’t _that_ an uncomfortable thought.

* * *

It’s not that he doesn’t like Barnes. There’s just something unsettling about the man that gets under Steve’s skin, makes him restless and reckless.

Natasha orders him out of the training when he throws the Alpha across the room and into the gym wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plastering. Seve feels awful, and he wants to go and apologize and help Barnes up, but a sharp look from Natasha makes him turn on his heel instead and head to the showers.

It’s not even the first time, and Steve knows he should have better control than this. Should know well enough how to spar with other soldiers who don’t have his enhancements.

And he doesn’t want to admit to himself that there’s fear driving his responses. Fear and wariness that Barnes doesn’t deserve. He’s been nothing but cordial and polite, kept his distance, clearly reading Steve’s cold demeanor.

Steve knows he must wonder why, and hates himself for not being able to keep his feelings in check, to keep up the charade that he’s like Barnes and Hernandez and Lindel; like Clint and Pepper and Bruce. To be that friendly dependable CO all units deserve.

He doesn’t know how to explain it, even to Tony with his confidence born out of wealth and privilege; nor to Natasha, who can seat herself at any table and be at ease. The way she can change identities like they are just clothes on her back.

Tony’s already made some noises about him not working with the newly minted Avengers Strike team, and Steve’s pretty close to agreeing. Letting them out in the field with Clint and Natasha first seems like a better idea every passing day, not that Steve would ever tell Tony that.

Steve lets the water of the shower beat over his shoulders as he tries to map the fight in his head. He goes through every move, every block and kick and strike, and then it comes. His body tenses under the water, as if he’s bracing for it all over again.

Barnes had grabbed the back his thigh; the edge of his palm had pressed into the curve of Steve’s ass and the tips of his fingers had been between Steve’s legs. They’d been grappling, and Barnes had tried for an advantage, a slip of his hand that would have meant nothing if he’d been tussling with another Alpha.

Steve hates himself, and his body for reacting. He should have more control.

Natasha is smart. She waits until Steve’s had his shower, has had dinner and is winding down for the evening, before she shows up at his apartment with a thermos of strong Russian tea and a small jar of jam.

Steve’s developed a taste for it, so he lets her in, follows her to the kitchen and waits while she boils water and gets the mugs out of the cupboard.

It’s not until they’re sitting on the counter with their teas, Natasha’s ridiculously strong and sweet and Steve’s with more water and only a tiny bit of jam, that she speaks.

“Maybe it’s time you tell the wider team.”

It’s just a suggestion, he knows that, but Steve is still tense, shaking his head. It’s different for Natasha and even for Tony. They don’t look the way Steve does. They don’t look so _Alpha_. Their bodies don’t scream to the outside world that they’re something they’re not, and those lessons SHIELD drilled into him in those first few weeks about how the world was not so different now still linger.

“It’ll be a security risk, and you have no idea how the new guys would react to that. We need a steady chain of command. At least for now,” he concedes at the end.

Natasha sips her tea, nodding.

“I know, just think about it. It’s a bridge we'll have to cross eventually.”

“It’s going to be a shitshow,” Steve says, sipping his own tea, and Natasha laughs.

“Well, isn’t everything? And we’ve survived worst.”

Steve laughs and there’s at least a bit of humor in there now. If they can survive Tony’s pre-heat shenanigans, then maybe this isn’t too bad.

It only takes a month or so when Steve is given the opportunity to regret those positive thoughts.

* * *

It was supposed to be a straightforward smash and grab. Steve wasn’t even supposed to be in on the op, but Lindel had broken his collarbone the previous weekend playing soccer, of all things, and was out of commission for the foreseeable future, and Steve was the only one not tied to a mission. So he geared up and met Barnes on the landing pad.

It’d just been him and Barnes, flying out of upstate New York and down towards the vast wilderness of the Appalachian mountains. As far as their intel had been able to tell, the facility has been abandoned for months. The last remaining Hydra personnel had ransacked what was left of the experiments and cleared out.

The local alphabet agencies had taken a cursory look, but Natasha had been able to dig up the detailed floor plans for the data dump and was convinced that below the four floors of R&D were several sub-basements with still-working servers that needed to be taken offline. The satellite images had looked fairly straightforward and Steve had had no reason to think otherwise.

Just a smash and grab. That’s what everyone had agreed.

Barnes is cordial, but doesn’t try to make any small-talk as he pilots the plane down the coast and then inland. His hair’s tied back and the left sleeve removed from his Kevlar jacket to reveal his metal arm. Steve hasn’t seen it close by before, choosing to stay away when Tony has been running his diagnostics. It looks a lot smoother up close, the metal plates almost delicate until they move with a ripple revealing the flexibility and strength.

What Tony had gathered during those sessions was that the arm had been fitted to him by a group of Hydra scientists while he’d been captured in Afghanistan. He’d been gone almost a year before the rescue team had finally found him in some god-awful lab in the middle of the desert. Half-delirious and starved, but in surprisingly good condition considering the experiments and captivity.

Barnes probably has reasons enough to hate Hydra as much as Steve does, but it still doesn’t seem to make it any easier to speak with the man. He knows that Tony had offered to upgrade some of the mechanics of the arm, but Barnes had managed to sidestep him, at least for now. No one who lived in the Avengers compound was able to avoid Tony and his desire to improve them all forever. Steve and his newly kitted-out stealth suit was enough proof of that. He’d been happy enough with the one he took from SHIELD as long as all the tracking devices had been removed, but Tony was not to be deterred.

The jet lands softly on the abandoned airfield near the compound and they both finish gearing up in silence. Once they get on to the site proper, Barnes is a consummate professional, following Steve’s directions to a T. Letting JARVIS do most of the work in getting them through the doors and any alarms the alphabet agencies might have left behind.

The upper floors of the complex are abandoned and ransacked as expected. It only takes them a few minutes to work through each floor and make their way to the emergency staircase at the back of the building. The elevators should still be working, but JARVIS advises against their use before he has full control of the building’s data network.

With that in mind, they head to the server rooms in the basement.

The staircases aren’t even that hidden, and Steve is surprised that no agency has made it past the R&D floors. He makes a mental note to get Natasha to dig up anything she can on the local guys who were here, and on their not-so-savoury alliances.

The staircase is lit by a set of emergency lights, giving them both an unhealthy sheen. Barnes takes the front, easily moving further down with his gun drawn, checking around each access corridor and hatch until they reach the basement entrance.

The doors are heavy steel but, strangely, not locked. Barnes pulls the handle, a suspicious frown on his face, while Steve covers him. The door opens to reveal a lowly lit corridor leading to a cavernous room filled with rows and rows of servers. They both wait, but nothing happens, the air filled with the static hum of the blinking server towers.

Steve has a bad feeling about the room, but as nothing happens for a minute or two, they both move past the door and into the corridor.

They hear a bolt shift in the wall as the door slams shut behind them, and with a slow, steady hiss, a gas starts filling the entryway. Barnes is at the electronic lock in less than a second, ripping open the panel and connecting JARVIS into the system with his metal fingers gleaming in the low blinking light.

They wait, both holding their breaths while the gas slowly fills the corridor and beyond, almost obscuring the servers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” JARVIS says, sounding ever so apologetic. “This lock seems to be a decoy. You must get me connected to the main servers.”

Swearing up a storm, Barnes yanks the comm unit out of the wall and they rush deeper into the room, lined with rows and rows of black, blinking server-towers. The gas has flowed into and around the first few rows of servers, but it begins to dissipate in only a few minutes as they move further down. It does leave a thin, slick film on everything. Steve can feel it on the kevlar of his suit and at the edge of his shield. It feels smooth and oily between his fingers, but it smells like nothing.

Barnes seems equally perplexed. Neither of them have trouble breathing or moving, and Steve tries to chalk it up as a decoy or maybe it just doesn’t affect him the way it would a normal human. It still doesn’t explain how Barnes is totally fine, moving easily from row to row, making their way deeper into the hall.

Steve doesn’t really notice it at first, too focused on checking every row, around every corner, listening to JARVIS in his ear directing him towards the central command unit. He starts to feel the low, hot pressure at the base of his spine as he stretches to look around the corner of yet another bank of blinking servers. It makes him freeze in place.

He knows that feeling. Hasn’t felt it like this since before the ice. Before all of those fancy modern suppressants and heat blockers.

He looks at Barnes, who is across the way, checking another corridor of servers. There’s sweat beading on his hairline, and as if he can feel Steve’s gaze, he turns around. His pupils are dilated and Steve can see his nostrils flaring as he scents the air.

The smell hits him like a freight train. Musky, sharp, _Alpha_.

Barnes has never smelled, not really. Steve knew that everyone was on scent blockers as standard. It’d been pretty much par for the course at SHIELD, and something Tony had implemented from the start for the Avengers team. It’s something non-negotiable and no one had argued, least of all Steve.

He doesn’t think, just moves, darting around the corner of a tower of servers and out of Barnes’ sight.

“Fuck!” he hears echoing through the room, as Barnes moves too, but not towards him, away. Down another corridor so that they are separated by a row of server towers. It doesn’t do much for the scent but at least it’s something.

_Out of sight, out of mind_ , Steve thinks almost hysterically.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Barnes is still swearing, his voice now only slightly muffled by the towers.

Steve can sympathize; that exact litany is running through his head right about now. He knows he's going into heat, or at least something mimicking one. He feels hot, flustered and the root of his cock and his taint are starting to ache in that horribly familiar way. The worst thing, really the _worst_ , is that Barnes is starting smell like an oncoming rut, and that’s not a smell Steve has really wanted anywhere near him, at least not in the future. Peggy had been different, she’d always been different.

“Okay,” Steve says, and he’s stupidly proud of how steady his voice is. “Clearly there was something in that gas.”

Something that even Steve’s metabolism hadn’t been able to clear. At least not yet. He still holds out hope that it won’t go further than this.

“Uhuh,” Barnes says from the other side, sounding strained. “So, you’re a – ah, you’re a –.” He doesn’t finish the sentence and Steve has no inclination to help him out.

Instead, he’s trying to work out whether calling in an evac or waiting it out is the less worst option right now, and the thought of being stuck with Barnes and anyone else in the team in the jet is making him feel queasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Barnes is still swearing across the way. “I’m gonna have to –,” and then there’s a sound, a zipper, and the scent of an aroused Alpha gets even stronger.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Steve bellows, kind of horrified at how he sounds like a scandalized maiden aunt.

“Have you ever popped a knot in tactical pants?!” Barnes sounds near-on hysterical. “Kevlar is not known for its give as a fabric!”

“You have it on pretty good authority right now that I do _not_ have an idea of what it’s like to pop a knot in tactical pants,” Steve yells, and Barnes goes quiet.

Well, almost quiet. There’s a sound. A very very specific sound.

“Are you masturbating!?”

“Yes!” Barnes yells. “If I don’t come in the next three minutes I might die and hanging out in an air-sealed room with an Omega in heat ain’t helping much!”

Steve doesn’t reply to that. There’s nothing he can really say. Should he have recused himself from all missions just in case some lunatic had made a gas that would artificially induce an estrous cycle? Should he just sit at home and be a nice little Omega that no one wants?

Then, suddenly, Barnes speaks again.

“Sorry –, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. This ain’t your fault. You’re a good CO, I’d rather be here with you than anyone.” Barnes laughs, but his voice is strained and tight, trying for levity but failing. “Shit, if I was here with another Alpha, we’d probably be tearing each other’s throats out right about now, rather than just jacking off.”

Steve laughs too, but there’s no humor in it. That was probably the goal of that particular failsafe. Considering the unlocked door, the way it sealed behind them.

He leans back against the plastic wall of the server tower. His hips are aching now, his hole getting wet, soaking into his panties, the fabric clinging to his skin. Steve closes his eyes, tries to breathe with the steady, slick sound of Barnes’ hand over his cock filling the space between them.

Eventually Barnes lets out a soft grunt and the air fills with the smell of his semen. Steve tries to breathe in through his mouth, tries to not imagine what’s going on on the other side of the servers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck this shit, it’s not going down,” Barnes grinds out. “I gotta go again.”

“Okay,” Steve breathes out, not opening his eyes, his fingers drawing up into fists. The base of his spine is on fire, the pressure in his pelvis ramping up each passing second.

“I might have to –,” he starts, not knowing how to finish that sentence. His mind blanking at the awful realization. The thought of having to do _this_ here. With Barnes listening. _Smelling_.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Barnes says, and Steve imagines him nodding. “I promise I won’t move, I’ll stay right here and you can take care of yourself, alright?”

Steve nods too, even as he knows Barnes won’t be able to see it either. Stupid, the both of them.

“Alright,” he echoes.

His hands shake as he works open the belt and the fly of the BDUs of the suit, sliding the rough kevlar fabric down his thighs. His panties are wet and sticking to the cheeks of his ass, and Steve can’t help the little whimper that escapes as he presses his fingers over his hole through the soaking fabric. It feels so good, just the promise of something inside.

He slides down the plastic wall until he’s sitting on the floor, his pants around his knees and legs spread out. Working his underwear down his legs, while Barnes lets out a pained groan

“Jesus, Rogers. You smell so fucking nice.”

Steve can feel himself blushing, panties halfway down his thighs, just as Barnes stammers out his apologies. “Shit, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Steve finds himself saying as he rubs his fingers over his now-exposed hole. The rim is swollen and puffy, and he wishes he had something other than his fingers, something thick and nice to fuck down on. He resolutely does not think of Barnes’ cock, the thick knot that he must be sporting right now.

Something that won’t go down after one go. Something that might keep up with Steve’s own needs.

_Nope_ , he’s not thinking of that at all as he eases the tips of his pointer and forefingers inside, gripping tight on them as he tries to breathe; quietly, as slowly as possible. He rolls his hips, sinking down on those fingers. Easy, steady pressure inside of him, and he can’t help the grateful little moan that escapes from his throat. He presses the soles of his feet together and spreads his knees out. Pants pushed as far down as his boots allow.

He tries to not think of what he looks like, eyes closed against the reflection mirrored in the dark glass of the server tower in front of him. How lewd and needy he must look. What someone might think looking at him like that, what Barnes might think. The sounds of Barnes jacking off on the other side of the tower wall make him bite down on his lip just to stop himself from saying something stupid. Instead he grabs his own dick, working his thumb over the foreskin and rubbing the sensitive head, feeling the wetness already pooling at the tip.

He hears Barnes coming again, smells it in the air, and it pushes him over the edge too. Rocking his hips down onto his fingers, body squeezing down, tight and hot, slick pooling on his palm and over his knuckles. He tries to be quiet, just rock and rock and keep the sounds trapped in his throat.

Barnes must hear it anyway, because he’s swearing again, whispered words under his breath, and Steve curses his serum-enhanced hearing. Because he understands those words, makes them out even if Barnes is trying to be whisper quiet.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s so good.”

He tries to wipe his fingers on the floor, suddenly feeling stupid and exposed, sitting there in a dark server room with his pants around his ankles, streaks of slick smeared on the floor between his legs.

The heat suddenly quells as fast as it had come on. Mostly due to his souped-up metabolism, Steve thinks. His hands are clumsy as he stumbles up and pulls up his panties and BDUs. The latter are wet and cold now, uncomfortable against his skin, but he’d rather die than take them off right now. He hears Barnes getting dressed too, the rustle of clothing and the metal of zippers being done up.

None of it really explains how Barnes can be feeling like himself too, but that’s for someone way smarter than him to figure out.

“You decent?” Barnes calls, and Steve’s not sure if he wants to laugh or to cry.

“Not the word I would choose,” he calls back, and it comes out more bitter than he intended.

Barnes is quiet for a long time, and if the silence wasn’t so heavy Steve would have assumed he’d left.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he eventually says, and he sounds incredibly sad.

Steve shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Let’s move on, we still have to get Jarvis to the command unit.”

“Thank you, sir,” come the clipped tones of the AI from his earpiece. “Please be advised that the audio from the last twenty minutes has been deleted and purged from the storage repository and cannot be retrieved.”

At least there’s that.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve says, feeling suddenly so, so tired.

They make their way down the long hall. Both of them resolutely not looking at one another. Steve taking the corridors to the left and Barnes to the right, listening to JARVIS’ clipped tones and instructions. Nothing else happens; the room is quiet, only the hum of the serves keeping them company.

Once they reach the command center, it’s fairly easy. Barnes plugs Jarvis into the console while Steve sets up the explosives.

Steve can still smell both of them in the air, lingering on their hands and clothing. It’s not like Hydra had thought to provide convenient restrooms following their fucked-up heat gas. Or, you know, hand sanitizer. It makes Steve think of their scents together, of them mingling and what that’d be like. He wonders if Barnes thinks about it too. They way he’s hunched over the console, shoulders tense and drawn up around his ears.

Thankfully, there’s no one on the landing pad when they get back to the compound, nor anyone in the halls while Steve makes his way back to his apartment.

“Jarvis, engage privacy mode.”

“Of course, sir.”

That means that, barring a world-ending event or the remote possibility of Steve having a coronary heart failure in the shower, no one can enter the apartment. Nor can Steve be notified that anyone wants entry. The visitor would merely be told that privacy mode was engaged and to leave a message for when the mode was disengaged. It’s a neat system, one that Steve has become to appreciate more and more. Especially after buying the toys.

He stands in the shower for a long time. Trying to not think of anything in particular while the warm water pours over his shoulders. It’s easier like this, if he doesn’t think about it. If he doesn’t think about how much he _liked_ it.

He’s barely gotten himself toweled off when JARVIS gives an electronic rumble and starts to speak.

“My apologies, Captain Rogers,” and he does sound apologetic and put out, which Steve still thinks is amazing for an AI. “Sir is being very insistent and is threatening to hack through the privacy mode.”

Steve sighs and pulls on a fresh pair of panties and a t-shirt.

“What does Tony want?”

“Sir has downloaded the data from the mission and is looking into the particle gas.” There’s a heavy pause, and Steve stops with his pants halfway up his legs. “Sir has also noticed the missing twenty minutes of audio from both yours and Sergeant Barnes’ comms.”

Steve shakes his head and finishes pulling on his clothes.

“Alright, Jarvis, I’ll be right there.”

When Steve gets into the conference suite, Tony and Natasha are already there. Barnes arrives not much after him, and they both studiously avoid looking at one another. Steve does notice that he’s showered too, the tips of his long hair still wet where they’re tied up in a ponytail.

Clint and Bruce arrive last, and Thor is off-world, so that’s everyone. Steve’s surprised to not see Maria, but Tony just closes the door and JARVIS begins his normal post-mission briefing protocol.

“Whatever, Jarv!” Tony waves his hand at the screen. “Come on, get to the good stuff. Or bad stuff, whatever’s your poison these days.”

The screen changes and what looks like a chemical compound appears on the screen. JARVIS continues, but Steve can detect that hint of disapproval in his voice again.

“The failsafe was designed to get any hostile forces fighting amongst themselves. To prevent them ever reaching the central command console. That’s probably the reason Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes encountered so little security in the server room.”

“Sooo…” Tony drawls out. “That clearly didn’t happen.”

Steve looks at the hologram of the compound gently rotating above the table. At the printed reports laid out for each of them, even the bland beige walls of the conference room. Anything at all to avoid looking at Barnes.

Tony, either ignorant of Steve’s desire to drop the topic completely or just too damn stubborn to not to get to the truth, carries on.

“I know from the chemical makeup of the compound that it has an equal effect on both Alphas and Omegas, and it was only you and Barnes there…”

“Tony –,” Steve warns.

“And, quite coincidentally, there’s twenty minutes of ops recoding missing from the lab, oh about, four minutes after you entered the server rooms and triggered the failsafe.”

Tony suddenly turns towards Barnes and his face is ice cold. Barnes meets his gaze steadily, but Steve can see something shifting behind his eyes.

“So what I want to know, is why my AI decided it was in the best interest of everyone to wipe those twenty minutes?”

“Because I told him to,” Steve thunders. “Because he is protecting both mine and Barnes’ privacy, as he should be, and until _I_ tell you there is a problem, you,” he looks around the room, “and I mean _all_ of you, are going to leave it the hell alone!”

Barnes is looking more and more uncomfortable, shrinking back into one of the plush boardroom chairs, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, now suddenly not meeting anyone’s eye.

“But –,” Tony tries again, and Steve’s not having any of it. “No, Tony. Leave it alone. I mean it.”

Tony huffs, but moves on from the gas particles to the content of the servers, resuming the regular post-mission protocol. Steve settles back into his seat, watching the endless files and numbers scrolling through the screens.

JARVIS has only been able to parse roughly a quarter of all the data, but it looks like the facility held a lot of Hydra’s financial information. It’s a coup, and will allow Maria’s new cybercrime team to track the money Hydra has stashed around the world. Local governments can take it from there and freeze the accounts.

Once JARVIS is done, Steve pushes back his chair and leaves the room. He can see the way Natasha is moving towards him, but he has no interest for another, more subtle, interrogation session right now.

He heads to the elevator and down to the motorpool. It’s easier to just pull on his leather jacket and take one of the bikes out into the city. To not think of anything. Not the briefing, not the compound and not the way Barnes wouldn’t look at him.

* * *

The following week passes without incident and no one, not even Natasha, brings up the op. Steve should let it go too, but he can’t. It returns to his mind sometimes in the quiet moments. The way Barnes sounded, the cadence of his voice, his scent, the way he held himself away after, like he was afraid.

So he paces. Living room to bedroom to kitchen. Opens the fridge, looks inside and closes it without taking anything. Steve gets like this sometimes, not being able to sleep, not being able to settle down to sketch or read or even watch an inane TV program.

Instead, he pulls on a sweater and heads to the elevator.

“Top floor, Jarvis.”

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS replies.

Steve likes the rooftop lounge. The bar is always stocked and there’s something about grabbing a beer from the fridge and looking out into the lights of Manhattan and beyond that he likes in moments like these. Not that the view from his apartment is any less spectacular, but it just feels different on the top floor. A different world.

When he gets up there, the bar isn’t empty, which is unusual for the relative lateness of the hour, and the fact that it’s a Tuesday. Barnes is by himself, sitting at the bar nursing a beer.

Steve considers turning around, going back to his apartment, but he decides against it. He should get to know Barnes better, should clear the air. They’re still going to be working together, even if he gets a feeling that Tony will do his all to stop any ops with just the two of them from now on.

Barnes jolts up from his slouch against the bar when Steve says “hey.” Looking surprised and not just a little bit disheveled.

“Hey,” he answers, metal hand tightly wrapped around his beer. The bottle is covered in condensation, so he must have been there for a while.

Steve goes to the fridge and grabs one too. Doesn’t really care which one. They all kind of taste the same to him, and it’s not like he can get drunk on anything, besides that weird Asgardian liquor Thor sometimes brings.

He really should tell Thor to bring it again when he’s back on the planet next time.

Steve takes a seat next to Barnes and looks out into the glittery night of New York City. It still doesn’t really feel like home, but there’s something familiar in the shape of the island, in the grid of streets and buildings, at least.

“Do we have to talk about it?” Barnes breaks the silence between them, and he sounds pained.

“No,” Steve shakes his head emphatically, twisting the beer open and taking a swig.

Steve wants nothing more than to never speak about what happened in the server room. Barnes nods and takes a swig of his own beer. The silence stretches between them, but it’s surprisingly comfortable. They drink and look out into the night.

“So Barnes, how’re you settling into New York?”

Steve doesn’t really know why he asks that question in particular. He knows Barnes moved here from D.C, know that the city can feel not so welcoming to someone not used to its ways.

“Barnes?” he asks, shaking his head. “Ugh, anyone who’s heard me come should call me Bucky.”

“Bucky, huh?”

Steve’s smiling, suddenly curious hearing a name from his own time here.

“Yeah,” Barnes – _no,_ Bucky – shrugs. “Childhood nickname that kinda stuck. Worked nice in the black ops where everyone had to have a horribly embarrassing nickname. ”He makes a face. “There was a guy everyone called ‘Sack,’ which is never a good look.”

Steve laughs; not so different from his time in the front. Stupid jokes and pranks and nicknames among the horrors. Levity and death. Bucky doesn’t let him wallow in those thoughts.

“But to answer your question, not too badly.” He shrugs. “I mean, I can’t really complain with a job, medical insurance and a brand spanking new apartment all arranged for me.”

Steve nods, he gets that. The bewildering feeling of being in the crosshairs of Tony’s generosity.

“You’ll get used to it, and I’ve taken a look at the rents in Brooklyn and feel kinda glad not having to deal with that.”

“No shit, yeah.”

They settle into another comfortable silence. Bucky finishes his beer and goes back to the fridge, offering Steve one too, which he accepts.

They’re three beers in when Barnes breaks the silence again.

“You know, it was kinda nice, not being alone.”

When Steve looks up at him, surprised, Bucky grunts and buries his head in his hands.

“Oh god, just shut me up, please!”

Steve laughs and takes a sip of his beer, feeling a lot more relaxed all of a sudden. It’s not the alcohol, but he can pretend, at least. He looks Bucky up and down. Those well-fitted jeans and comfortable blue button-down. He’d be the Alpha to compete with in any bar down in the city.

“You, alone? Really?”

Bucky looks up, pained, and then waves his left hand. “Like anyone wants a robot arm around them.”

And then Steve feels bad, mumbling a “sorry” into his beer. Trying to hide the things he’d been thinking. The metal arm hadn’t even entered his considerations, really.

When Bucky doesn’t say anything, Steve speaks again, feeling like he needs to find that level of honesty too.

“But you’re right. It was nice, not being alone for once.”

Bucky looks him up and down, deadpan. “You? Really?”

Steve just shrugs, waving a hand at his whole body. “Yeah me, I mean, just look at me.”

“I am.”

“I mean no one wants an Omega who looks like this.” He shrugs, tries for nonchalance. “I get it, of course. I grew up small, I know the difference, I know what Alphas like, but it was nice. Like you said. Not being alone.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, his eyes unreadable, and Steve starts to feel like maybe he should backtrack, shake it off as a joke, but then Bucky leans towards him, arms on the bar.

“Would you like to do it again?”

There’s heat in his eyes then, and just for a fraction of a second, Steve’s inhumanly steady heart skips a beat, and he finds himself nodding.

“Yes, yeah I would.”

Bucky nods like it’s settled, and finishes his beer, placing the bottle back on the counter with a click. Steve follows suit, both terrified and excited at what he’s agreed to, at what they’re about to do.

“Yours or mine?” Bucky checks, and Steve thinks of the toys he has hidden in his bedside drawer. Thinks about using them, thinks about how much he had wanted one in that server room. Thinks about Bucky _watching_.

“Mine,” he says and gets up from the bar and heads to the elevators. He hears Bucky following.

The ride down to his is quiet, but not as uncomfortable as he was expecting. When they get in through the door he shows Bucky where to throw his shoes and walks to the bedroom. He feels Bucky right behind him, following.

No need to play coy, really.

The room is still dark and Steve flicks on the lamp by the bed. It gives just enough light to see by, but is not abrasive or bright.

“I’ve got some –,” he hesitates, his hand at the knob of the bedside drawer. He hasn’t shown these to anyone, hasn’t spoken about that, but it’s too late for doubts, and no one can ever accuse of Steve of running into a firefight with a plan.

He takes out the toy from the drawer. It’s thick and long and with a nice simulated knot at the base that can swell and expand when you press the button at the bottom of the toy. It’d been expensive as hell, but so worth the money.

Bucky whistles from behind him when he sees it. “Nice!”

Steve can’t help blushing a bit. Not really the reaction he was expecting, even if it’s more than welcome.

“A guy’s gotta look after his needs,” he shrugs, trying for nonchalance, and Bucky does laugh, a warm soft sound that makes Steve smile too.

“You wanna take the chair?” Steve motions towards the wide armchair in the corner of the room. Usually, it’s just a receptacle for his clothing, but this time it happens to be empty of everything except a smushed decorative pillow.

Bucky sits down and makes himself comfortable, spreading out his legs, and Steve can’t help if his eyes are drawn there. To the buckle of his belt and the line of his fly. To distract himself, Steve opens his own belt and pulls it through the loops, placing it on the dresser. His jeans are next and he tries to not think of how loud the zipper is in the room.

How Bucky is watching him.

He pushes the jeans down over his hips and thighs, kicking them into the corner. Bending down to pull off his socks.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky breathes out, and Steve turns to look at him over his shoulder.

He’s sprawled out now, hand softly resting over the bulge in his jeans, fingers playing over the fly. Teasing himself. Steve can feel himself blushing, standing there in his t-shirt and panties, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

“Would you look at you,” Bucky smiles, his hand squeezing his cock through his jeans. “So pretty, sweetheart.”

Steve ducks his head, not wanting Bucky to see how much the words affect him, and maybe Bucky doesn’t see or doesn’t care, because he carries on. “You wanna get on the bed, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, crawling over the covers. He’s getting wet already, feels it between his cheeks. The way the arousal heats him up, making him clumsy and shy. He usually knows what he’s doing, but this is making everything feel like new.

When he looks over, Bucky’s got the fly of his jeans open and the obvious bulge of his cock poking out, just covered by the thin fabric of his briefs. He’s got his fingers running over the length and just the sight of it makes Steve moan a little where he’s still on his hands and knees on the bed.

He leans on his left arm and pushes his other hand inside his panties, feeling the stiff length of his own cock, and then further past the sweet swell of his perineum, fingering the wetness already gathering over his hole. It feels good, rubbing over that tight pucker, feeling it contract and loosen.

He shuffles his knees further under his body, pressing his ass into the air like he sometimes likes doing even when he’s on his own, and tugs his panties down a bit. Just under the swell of his ass, just so that Bucky can see, and he clearly can, because Steve hears him swear.

“Oh, fuck, Steve,” and there’s that wet sound of Bucky’s hand over his cock which has seared itself into Steve’s memory. Steve thinks he could spend another seventy years in the ice and not forget that.

He circles his fingers over his hole a few more times until he’s pushing inside, stretching himself out and feeling the slick dribbling down over his fingers and down his thighs. He can’t help the little noises he’s making, sweet little gasps into the sheets.

“You wanna take your panties off, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, and Steve’s nodding; the fabric is digging into his skin, right under his ass. He reaches back and pulls the fabric down his legs. It feels dirty, doing it like this, doing it so that Bucky can see. Clumsy, the way he’s on his knees, chest pressed to the bed. He finally manages to wiggle them to around his ankles and gropes for the toy.

He can see Bucky from the corner of his eye, see his massive cock, hard and leaking in his hand. See the way his eyes are focused on Steve, dark and hooded. Looking at Steve like he’s pretty, like he’s sexy and desirable.

Steve presses his forehead into the sheets as he spreads his knees wider, pressing his hips lower until he can angle the toy between his legs. Pressing the base against the mattress and working the tip against his hole. He feels so hungry for it, wet and ready, and he wants Bucky to see, wants him to watch.

“Buck,” he breathes out, pressing the tip right _there_ , but not letting it slip inside. Not yet.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Can you –, can you see?” Steve pants out, shuffling over the matless to look at Bucky past his shoulder.

His cock looks fat and heavy with blood, pink and thick and wet at the tip where Bucky’s thumb is rubbing over the slit. He’s still just teasing himself, touches soft and easy, and for some reason that makes Steve feel even more desperate.

“Yeah, I can see real good,” Bucky rumbles. “You look so pretty for me, Steve.”

“Oh,” is all that Steve can find in himself to say, as he pushes back against the toy, letting the tip press inside. Just the tip, the wide bulbous head stretching out his rim. Steve’s panting, swearing a little and spreading his legs as wide as the panties still wrapped around his ankles allow.

He pushes up with the arm not holding the toy until he’s up on his knees, thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself still, just teasing his hole with the tip of the toy. Riding it, slow and shallow. He rocks his hips, gently, so gently, sinking down onto the length of the toy, letting it fill him up.

“Oh, look at you, sweet thing,” Bucky almost purrs from the other side of the room. “Look at you taking it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve pants out, rocking on the toy, fucking it, letting himself rise up and sink back down but not taking the knot, not just yet.

His toes are pressed into the sheets, curling in on the fabric, and the toy hits just the right spot. He looks over his shoulder again, looks at Bucky, who’s pushed his jeans and briefs down his hips. Steve can now see his cock and his heavy drawn-up balls. He can see the faint swell of the knot at the base, see the way Bucky’s rubbing at it, encouraging it.

He wants it in him, but that’s not what this is about, so instead of saying anything, Steve just closes his eyes and sinks down, down, down onto the toy until the silicone knot pushes past his rim. Until there’s that sharp edge of pain where he can imagine Bucky’s thick knot pressing inside of him, taking up all the room he’s got to give.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky breathes behind him, like he knows what Steve is thinking. ”Look at you all stretched out and pretty.”

Steve lets out a shaky moan as he pulls up and the knot pops free, but only for a second before he’s bearing down again and pressing it inside. He’s so close now, climax thrumming just below the surface. Skin tight and hot all over. He grinds down on the toy, rocking on his toes, his knees, arching his back like someone is watching, and Bucky is watching.

“Look at you, pretty,” he says, and Steve hears the slick sound of his hand over his cock. The wet, obscene squelch. And he wants that to be his mouth, his body on Bucky’s cock, and it’s that thought that makes him come, makes his squeeze down on the silicone inside of him.

He’s so practiced with it, so tuned to the motions that his fingers slip under the base of the toy, pressing on that button just as the first contractions of his orgasm hit, and the knot expands, filling him up as he comes, soaks his t-shirt and sheets with his come and slick.

Bucky is coming too, he thinks dazedly. Listening to the soft, rough sounds of his moans, the tight movement of his hand. The rhythmic squeezing of his fist as he stimulates his knot. Squeezing it like an Omega’s hole would if they were really fucking.

Steve leaves the toy inside as he tumbles down into the sheets, crawling further into the bed, waving his hand at Bucky. Beckoning.

“Come here.”

For a moment there’s no noise, nothing moving in the room, even their breaths held, but eventually, Bucky moves. Slow and careful as he crawls into the bed and lies down.

They don’t hold each other. It’s not what this is about, but just the closeness is a comfort too. The presence of someone else in the bed, even when they aren’t touching. The intimacy and trust of falling asleep with someone else near. Steve listens to Bucky breathe as he slowly lets himself fall asleep. The steady rhythm of it, void of fear or stress. The soothing scent of his fading arousal and contentment.

It’s the best sleep he’s had this side of the century.

* * *

And it goes on like that from there, once or twice a week. They meet up in the bar and head over to Steve’s, and it’s nice. Bucky is nice. He’s respectful and sweet and doesn’t seem to mind that Steve looks nothing like anyone’s ideal Omega. They have fun and leave it at that.

And it’s good. _Great_ even. Until Steve is sitting in Dr. Cho’s office looking at his latest lab results.

“I mean, we could speak to the research team in Korea, they’ve been doing some interesting things with molecular suppressants, but as your doctor, I recommend you go through the heat.”

Steve leans back in his chair. It’s not really the news he wants to hear, not right now in any case. SHIELD had sworn that the cocktail he was on was working and would work for the rest of his life. So much for that promise.

“I’m not sure I have the time, Helen.”

“I know Steve, and we can try and push it back, fiddle with your dosages, but ultimately you are going to have to go through a heat soon.”

She sounds so apologetic and Steve knows it isn’t her fault. She turns to her computer and pulls up another set of test results as she continues.

“The heat should at least reset your system a little bit and we should hopefully be able to go back to your previous dosage, but it’s clear that your body needs this right now. It’s just fighting the meds too much.”

“Alright,” Steve concedes, rubbing his face with his hands. “I have to speak with Tony and schedule the time off. Do you have an idea on the timeframe once I stop the meds?”

Helen is nodding even before he’s finished speaking.

“Most likely it will only be a few days before your body goes into heat. What I can see from your bloodwork is that your body is pretty much primed to go as soon as.”

Steve nods, trying to think of all the ops going on and in the planning. He’s going to be out of commission at least a week, if not longer. Helen interrupts his frantic thoughts with a smile.

“Just make sure you’re using protection, as you’re very much likely to get pregnant on this cycle.”

“I’m not –, what,” Steve splutters, feeling the heat rise on his face. “I’m not going to have anyone with me!”

“Oh?” Helen seems surprised. “The contraception these days is very good, and generally we do tend to recommend at least some partnered sexual activity for Omegas going into heat after long periods on suppressants, but it’s obviously not compulsory.”

“I don’t really –,” Steve fidgets. “I don’t really have anyone to do that sort of thing with.”

He tries to not think of Bucky and that burgeoning relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him for something like that. A heat is, well, _intense_ is the word really, and Bucky hasn’t pushed for more, hasn’t suggested that they _do_ more.

“It’s perfectly fine to go through a heat alone too, Steve, but just make sure to call me if anything starts feeling too intense or painful.”

“Of course,” Steve promises, knowing that he’s going to have to be at death’s door before he calls _anyone_ while he’s in heat.

Cho sends him on his way with a pat on the back and wish of good luck.

It all goes pretty fast after that. He and Tony agree on a schedule. JARVIS is primed for all contingencies. Natasha does an obscenely large order of sex toys from an online store she herself uses and Pepper makes sure that his fridge is stocked with high-calorie snack foods and sports drinks.

They all behave like it’s completely normal, and probably for them it _is_. He knows that Tony cycles through a heat at least once a year, but he has Pepper, so that’s understandable. Steve isn’t sure what Natasha does, but she and Clint have some kind of an understanding that he hasn’t poked his nose into. So, it should be normal. Ordinary. It just _isn’t_ , not for him.

It’s just pure chance that he runs into Bucky the morning of _the day_ in the gym.

Of course Bucky smiles at him in the hall, looking that there’s no one else around and says, “you wanna head over to yours later?”

“I, uh, I’m going –,” Steve tries to haltingly explain, not wanting to lie, and there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to say no to that invite either, but he knows it’s the heat talking.

Bucky seems to take his hesitation the wrong way, as he instantly backs away.

“If you don’t want to –,”

“No! I do! I do!”

“Oh, ok, great!”

“But not, right now, I’m –,”

“Of course, please don’t worry about it if you’re busy, I mean that’s totally fine,” Bucky seems to be backtracking even more, and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m going into heat!” he shouts way too loudly. Great going on that fixing it thing.

“Oh,” Bucky says, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“It’s that, like I need to, like medically,” Steve tries to explain, his face crimson. “They said that I need to reset my hormone levels or something, so…”

He leaves the sentence hanging, shrugging awkwardly, and Bucky doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. They stand there, staring at each other and Bucky says nothing and Steve starts to feel incredibly stupid.

“I’m just going to –,”

“Do you want help with that?” Bucky asks before he can finish.

“What?”

“With the…heat,” Bucky hedges, cringing as he says the final word.

“I, ah, I – yes!” comes out of Steve’s mouth without any input from his brain.

“Really?”

He sounds so surprised, like the idea of someone, of Steve, wanting to be with him during a heat is absurd, and that just strengthens Steve’s own conviction.

“Yes!”

“Okay…okay, I should go get my stuff.” Bucky’s nodding, while he makes no motion to move away from Steve.

“Yeah, yeah. You should,” Steve says stupidly.

Bucky backs out of the corridor and as soon as he gets around the corner, Steve hears him take off in a dead run. He stands there for a while even after Bucky’s footsteps have long disappeared, staring towards the corner where Bucky disappeared off to.

He should leave too, should go to his apartment, make sure everything is ready. Ready for Bucky to come over. To help Steve with his heat.

_Shit_.

Steve spends the next few hours both cleaning and panicking. He changes all the linen on his bed and brings out extra blankets. He fishes out the unused box of condoms from the deepest, darkest recess of his bathroom cabinet and places it on the bedside.

Bucky eventually arrives with a small duffle, wearing a pair of worn sweats and a hoodie. He’s clearly showered, with his hair still wet at the ends where they touch the cotton of the hoodie.

He is also carrying a blanket.

“I thought I should, you know,” he motions to himself. “Clean up.”

Steve nods. He’d showered too. Cleaned himself up. _Thoroughly_. Maybe he ended up with his fingers stuffed inside himself and coming all over the wall of the shower, but it was just to take the edge off. Now, standing there with Bucky looking warm and cozy only within arms’ reach, it seems like a reasonable thing to have done.

And then there’s the blanket. Maybe Steve is looking at it too keenly as Bucky stops mid-step and his face starts reddening.

“I just thought,” he mutters, lifting and shoving the blanket like he’s trying to make it take up less space. “I just thought that it might be useful.”

Steve nods, reaching over to feel the soft, worn fabric. It smells like Bucky. Smells like him, and like sleep and safety and comfort.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “That’ll come in handy.”

Bucky smiles, somehow strangely shy where he’s usually brash and loud.

Steve directs him to throw his stuff into the bedroom. The blanket ends up on the bed, nestled nicely along Steve’s own bedding. The duffle holds a few clothes and about seven boxes of condoms, which tumble out when Bucky zips the bag open to pull out a spare t-shirt and a pair of socks.

Steve stares at the pile of boxes and gives Bucky _a look_. “Someone’s hopeful.”

“Well, it’s good to be prepared!” Bucky defends himself and his mountain of condoms, waving his hands around the room and still blushing horribly. “And you don’t want to run out.”

“No,” Steve smiles, teasingly stretching out the vowel, and trying to fight a smile. “ _You_ don’t want to run out, because it’s you who’ll have to run down to the corner store for more.”

Well, in reality neither of them have to run anywhere. JARVIS will provide. There’s a soft clearing of an electronic throat from the ceiling to indicate as much.

“I will be engaging privacy mode now, Captain Rogers.”

“Thanks Jarvis.”

He hears the gentle click of the lock and a hiss that he’s always assumed to be some kind of sound and scent isolation system that’s built into the walls.

“Wow,” Bucky says, looking around the room. “I didn’t even know that the building did that.”

Steve just shrugs. “It takes a while to learn all the shit Tony’s put into the smart set up of the apartments, but that one is kinda useful.”

Bucky’s nodding, touching the walls like the privacy barrier is something he can feel.

“Wanna get something to eat?” Steve asks.

He feels like it’s still going to be a while before the heat starts ramping up properly, so they might as well investigate all the goodies Pepper left in the fridge. Bucky nods and they head back into the living room.

They pull out a tray of gourmet sandwiches, a whole apple pie, a tray of lasagna that Steve throws into the oven for a quick re-heat, and a few nice-looking smoothies. Also one whole shelf filled with ionic sports drinks.

They demolish most of the food while hanging out in the kitchen and talking about nothing much, just easy chatter. Bucky even shows him his favorite tweets from the official Avengers account when one of the interns accidentally sent out a picture of Tony hanging upside down, half-in half-out of the Iron Man suit.

It’s nice and comfortable, until it isn’t.

The slow ramp-up starts with an ache in his hips and lower back. Like a particularly stubborn pulled muscle. And maybe Bucky sees the way he’s pressing the heel of his hand at his lower back, the way he’s massaging his hip all of a sudden.

He leans over the kitchen counter where Steve’s putting the last few sports drinks into the fridge and just casually says, “How about I eat you out?”

“Ah! What?” Steve stutters, nearly dropping the last bottle on the floor. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, why not?” Bucky shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, and Steve finds that he doesn’t want to try and find an excuse to say no. Or air out his maybe outdated notions on what Alphas would and would not do. Peggy never put up with that crap either. Instead, he puts the bottle down on the shelf and closes the fridge.

That’s how he ends up lying on his bed with no pants on and Bucky arranging his legs just the way he wants them. Knees pushed wide and up as Bucky grabs his hips and drags Steve’s butt right to the edge of the mattress. Steve’s busy loving the feeling of finally having those firm strong hands all over his body when suddenly, Bucky stops, pulling the metal hand away, and pulling back.

When Steve turns to look, his face is closed off and his left hand is closed into a fist and held close to his side. Out of the way.

“I can not touch you with it, if you want,” he says, voice flat. Not looking at Steve, his eyes focused on the chair in the corner.

Steve huffs in frustration, reaching out and planting Bucky’s metal hand back on his thigh with a smack, and turning back to the sheets without a word. When Bucky doesn’t move for a second, he pushes back, arching into that firm touch, letting out a low whine. It’s a dirty trick, but seems to work because Bucky squeezes the muscle, his thumb pressing on the inside of Steve’s thigh, almost where he so nearly touched during that fateful sparring match. It feels like years ago, and now Steve presses back into the touch, welcoming it.

Bucky shifts to kneel on the floor, now firmly running both of his hands over Steve’s naked ass and thighs. Pushing him to spread even wider, and Steve feels horribly exposed all of a sudden. His hips and back are aching, and he can feel the trails of slick between the spread-out ass cheeks. Before he knows it, he’s burying his head into the sheets, trying to hide his blush. But he wants to know what Bucky’s seeing too. The idea of himself so bare to someone else’s eyes both mortifying and arousing.

“What does it look like?” Steve whispers before he can lose his nerve.

Bucky hums gently and places a soft kiss right into the juncture of Steve’s thigh and hip. “Pretty, so pretty,” he murmurs. “Pink and swollen and so lovely and wet for me, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” Steve can’t help but ask, hating how his voice breaks. How unsure he sounds.

“So pretty,” Bucky reassures again, and then he’s pressing his tongue right _there_ where Steve’s wet and needy.

He hates the noises coming out his mouth, he _loves_ the noises coming out of his mouth as Bucky sucks and licks and eats him out. He takes his time, going slowly and languid and soft until Steve is shivering and moaning and insistently pushing his ass back, looking for friction.

He wants to rub his cock into the sheets, but Bucky just grabs his hips and won’t let him. That unyielding metal arm keeping him trapped under Bucky’s clever lips and tongue that are so mercilessly teasing him. Bucky’s got his tongue pressed inside as Steve comes just like that. Held tight and clenching down on that soft intrusion and pressing back into Bucky’s face.

“Want to fuck me?” Steve says over his shoulder as soon as he gets his breath back, already shifting to his knees on the bed.

He can see the tent in Bucky’s sweats, the wet spot already forming on the fabric where his cock is hard and leaking. Steve wants to taste it, but he wants to get fucked even more.

“You want me to?” Bucky asks, and he sounds so surprised.

Steve laughs. “There are no stupid questions, only stupid people,” he sing-songs and rises up on his knees, balancing on the edge of the mattress as he presents.

It feels good, stretching that ache in his back, in his hips, showing off where he’s already worked open. Spreading his arms out in front of him and pressing his chest into the mattress. It feels good to rub his nipples into the fabric of the shirt and the sheets underneath, waking up those nerve endings.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes out and Steve can hear the swish of fabric and Bucky pushes his pants down, he can hear the rummage as Bucky fumbles through his bag for a condom and rips the package open.

Then he’s finally rubbing the tip over Steve’s hole, getting the tip all wet and messy and Steve arches back into it, remembering the shape of that beautiful cock from all of their evenings together. All those weeks he’d spent watching from the safe distance of the bed, with his mouth watering at the sight of that perfect, thick dick Bucky has.

Bucky who’s being a god damn tease right now, rubbing the tip right over Steve’s rim but not pushing inside. Not letting Steve have it. He’s swearing and rocking back, spreading his knees and trying to show off.

“Oh, look at you, pretty,” Bucky praises, and just carries on teasing, laughter in his voice, and Steve’s had enough of teasing.

It feels more like a move he’d do on the training mat, but in a split second he’s got Bucky under him on the bed and that sweet, thick cock nestled back in between his cheeks. He reaches back and angles it just right, sinking onto the thick length with a grateful moan.

Bucky’s gasping and moaning too, gripping Steve’s hips like his life depends on it.

“Teaches you not to tease,” Steve snarks, but he sounds breathless too, rocking into the feeling of being finally filled.

It doesn’t take that long for either of them. Steve clenching down his orgasm, his cock spurting all over Bucky’s t-shirt while he’s too busy arching and moaning as his knot swells and fills Steve the way the toys never quite manage.

Bucky pulls his knees up as he comes, the muscles tight and trembling as he thrusts up into Steve’s body, working through his own climax. His thighs end up supporting Steve’s thighs where he’s sat on Bucky’s lap. Both of them tied together, happy and sated.

Eventually Bucky rolls them over, easing Steve underneath him while they’re still locked, and he starts to rock, working his knot inside Steve’s channel, chasing another orgasm. Steve closes his eyes and throws his head back, letting the feeling wash over him, for once letting his body do what it’s designed to.

He loses track after the orgasm that follows, doesn’t count the three, four, six or eight. He isn’t sure about the numbers and doesn’t care, both of them fucking and coming until they can’t anymore, until they both need to sleep.

They wake up hungry and empty half the fridge of sports drinks and power bars. Steve also eats the whole bunch of bananas left on the counter while Bucky demolishes three apples.

It’s nice, almost too easy the way they’ve settled into the heat, like they do this all the time.

Steve’s still feeling the ache, but the urgency and apprehension is gone. That feeling of not being alone, of being allowed, of being satisfied. It’s something he couldn’t have even named before, couldn't have said it was _that_ he was missing. Didn’t even know that the nebulous feeling he’d always had _could_ be satisfied.

But before he can form the thought into words, Bucky looks at him over the breakfast counter and asks, “do you want to have a shower?”

And of course Steve does, and that’s nice too.

The way Bucky turns on the shower and tests the water for him. The way he gets the towels out of the cupboard and places them on the counter, so that they are easily within reach. The way he hustles Steve into the shower first so he gets the best position under the spray. It, like everything else at the Tower, is obscenely large, and they both fit easily under the stupidly big rainfall shower, so Bucky shouldn’t have worried.

He pulls Steve in, reeling him like the daily catch, and Steve smiles, going willingly. Bucky lathers up the washcloth with the generic soap Steve has left in the shower, and takes way too much time washing every little inch of him. Keeping his touches light and innocent until Steve can’t help himself but to fall on his knees on the tile floor and swallow down Bucky’s cock.

Bucky pets his hair, clenching that metal fist against the wall while Steve swallows around him. Muttering words and curses Steve can’t make sense of under the pounding water, but he doesn’t have to. He knows they’re all lovely, knows from the way Bucky’s scent shifts, soft and urgent and musky.

It takes some encouragement but eventually Bucky comes into his mouth and all over his face, hips jerking almost uncontrolled where he’d tried to hold off to the last second.

After he’s done, Steve stays right there, pressed close to Bucky’s warm body. Until a hand touches his face, the palm cradling the hinge of his jaw. It’s such a tender gesture, almost ill-fitting to their casual affair, but Steve presses into it anyway. Closes his eyes and soaks it in.

Bucky pulls him up, hugging him to his body, and moves them out of the shower. He wraps Steve in one of the massive bath sheets and leads him back into bed.

The heat lasts three days. Three days of glorious fucking, and on the morning of the 4th day, Steve feels fine. Better than fine, lying in the rumbled, stinking bed, pressed close to Bucky’s sleeping form. He pretends to sleep for a bit longer, lies still and quiet, just listening to Bucky’s heartbeat under his ear. It’s steady and smooth and he finds himself breathing to its rhythm.

When they do eventually both wake up, he makes Bucky breakfast from whatever is left in the fridge. Bucky eats and smiles at Steve between bites of food over the kitchen counter, and Steve smiles back.

* * *

Things go back to normal and Bucky’s at the bar two days later like always. He hands Steve a bottle of beer and asks, very casually, “Yours?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, not even bothering to open the beer.

And to be fair to them both, they do try and go back to the old routine, Bucky at the chair and Steve on the bed. Steve only gets as far as getting on to all fours on the bed and then Bucky’s there, pulling down his panties and pressing his tongue against Steve’s hole like he’s been starved for it.

They end up fucking. Clothes strewn around the room and sheets half ripped off the bed in their haste. It’s glorious, and Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s hips to pull him close, to stop him from leaving too soon.

And it happens again, and again, and again.

Eventually, when Bucky’s lying there, half on top of him, both of them sweaty and only half out of their clothes this time, he turns and presses his lips to Steve’s sternum and says, “You know, maybe we could add touching to this thing? Like officially.”

“Yeah, yes, that sounds like a great idea.” Steve nods; he’s all on board with the touching.

And it goes from there. Steve doesn’t even notice things changing, it happens so slowly, and with Bucky having already spent those three days at his apartment during the heat, it all feels so normal, so ordinary.

Bucky staying the night, staying for breakfast before they both head to the gym. Bucky showing up at his around lunchtime carrying a massive takeaway bag from the Thai place nearby. Bucky asking him if he’d like to try out the new burger place in Tribeca. Bucky’s toothbrush and deodorant showing up in his bathroom. The blanket that never left his apartment after the heat.

It’s not until he’s stuck in an overnight ops call with Natasha and she turns to him during a comms blackout and says accusingly, “You could have told me you guys were dating.”

She sounds genuinely hurt, and Steve tries to splutter, “What? We’re not, what?”

“Come on, Steve!” she sighs, rolling her eyes so hard Steve thinks they might dislocate. “Everyone knows he spent your heat with you. It’s like a bunch of washerwomen here, Jarvis being the worst.”

Steve feels himself going crimson, and he’s grateful for the darkness of the comms center.

“People can do that casually these days,” he mutters defensively. “Or isn’t that what you’ve been trying to tell me?”

“Steve, you are the least casual person on the planet,” Natasha laughs. “Plus, it’s not like it’s just the heat thing. You show up to the gym _together_! You go on dates. We’ve all seen you!”

Her tone is almost accusatory, like Steve is depriving her of good inter-team gossip, and Steve finds himself trying to sink further and further into his chair.

“It’s casual,” he mutters.

“Does _he_ know that?” she asks sharply, and that makes Steve look up.

She doesn’t look accusatory, more curious, and it makes Steve think. He hadn’t thought about it. They haven’t talked about _anything_ really, it had all just fallen into place, and Steve was enjoying it, he was having fun and he didn’t want to say anything to change that. Omegas like him don’t get to date, they don’t get courted.

“I don’t know,” he answers, voice small, and Natasha’s face softens.

“Just talk to him. I’m pretty damn sure he’s in the same place as you are.”

The topic is mercifully left alone as the units ping and the comms from the team come back online.

It takes Steve almost a week to bring it up. A week of going jogging together in Central Park, of late-night dinners and joint lunches at the rooftop garden at the Tower. He gets it now how _obvious_ it is, how obvious _he_ is.

They work together, for Christ’s sake, and Steve doesn’t want to be that Omega who traps an Alpha like Bucky just because they work at the same place. If it’s just been some casual fun for Bucky, then Steve can be professional. He can be even better he was before, nicer, make small talk and be a proper team lead, even if this thing between them ends here.

He’s worked on what to say, but when Bucky arrives with a box of Afghani food for them to try, it all flies out of the window.

“I know people think I should hate the food, after everything, you know,” he says, shrugging with his left shoulder while unloading the boxes. “But the food is so amazing and I want you to try Mantu dumplings, they’ll change your view of the world!”

“What are we doing?” is what comes out of Steve’s mouth, and Bucky stops, his hand still inside the bag.

“What do you mean?” he asks carefully, still not moving. Steve can see the way his shoulders have tensed, his face gone tight.

“Just, uh, you know. _Us_.” Steve tries. “What are we doing?”

“Oh,” Bucky says. He slowly lifts the last box from the paper bag and carefully lays it on the counter.

“I mean, I thought we should talk about it.” Steve continues even in the face of Bucky’s silence. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding.”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” Bucky snaps out, and it sounds bitter. He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and pulls it on. “I hope you enjoy the food in any case.”

And then he turns on his heel and heads towards the door. Like he’s leaving.

“Wait, Bucky!”

Steve reaches for him, managing to grab an edge of a sleeve. The leather is smooth and warm still. Bucky’s only been at his apartment for five minutes.

“Hold on a sec, I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Oh, I’m on the same page alright,” Bucky says. “I just don’t want to hang around for that ‘this isn’t really working for me’ speech, pal.”

“What?”

“Do I really have to spell this out for you? Is that what you want?”

“Yes!” Steve shouts bewildered. The conversation’s gotten away from him so fast and he has no idea how to street it back to port. To the port of his feelings.

“Fine!” Bucky spits out. “I don’t want to stay around listening how ‘you’ve had fun’, how ‘this isn’t what you really want’, how ‘it’s you not me’, how ‘we can still be friends and colleagues’. Is that spelled out enough for you, huh?”

And now Steve is starting to feel angry too.

“Oh, it’s spelled out fine enough, _pal_!” Steve snipes. “What I was going to ask if I can call you my _boyfriend_ , but I guess I know the answer to that now!”

“What?”

Bucky seems totally taken aback, his face suddenly going slack as he stares at Steve’s face, but that’s nowhere enough to stop the steam train that’s Steve’s temper.

“Yes! You heard me! Boyfriend!” Steve yells. “They all think we’re dating! And I wanted to check with you if you were okay with that, but I guess I know the answer to that too, huh?!”

“Everyone thinks we’re dating?” Bucky asks, and it’s his turn to sound bewildered.

“Yes! Natasha was angry at me for not telling them.”

“Oh,” is all Bucky seems to be able to say.

They stand there staring at each other for Steve doesn’t even know how long, and some of the anger in him deflates, leaving behind only cautious hope.

“Yeah,” Bucky says eventually. “You can call me your boyfriend.”

“Well, I don’t know if I want to now,” Steve says primly. “Because clearly my _boyfriend_ is an idiot!”

That makes Bucky bust out laughing, and his mirth makes Steve smile too. It makes Steve reach out, pull him in. Makes him kiss Bucky’s cheek and then his still-smiling lips. It’s nice, no, it’s _great_ , standing there in the hall and just kissing. Like what people who aren’t casual do, like what boyfriends do.

Eventually Steve does pull away from the kiss, even as Bucky chases his lips clearly not ready to stop.

“I was promised dumplings by my boyfriend, you know.” Steve reminds him with a smile.

Bucky’s hands slide over to his ass, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’ll show you dumplings.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve laughs against his shoulder. “But food first!”


End file.
